You're A God
by Amouse16
Summary: Liz POV post-breakup with Max
1. He's Everything

HE'S EVERYTHING

He's Everything 

"_You're here, and you don't know why._. .He's everything you want, he's everything you need, he's everything inside you that you wish you could be, he says all the right things at exactly the right time, but he means nothing to you and you don't know why. There's always something more that you wish he would say." -Vertical Horizaon

I'm so angry at myself for needing to be saved. Again. Isn't that what got me in this mess? I needed to be saved and someone rose to the occasion. 

I can't really be mad that it happened. It had to happen. I felt like all the stars and planets had aligned so they were pointing down on him and me. And it felt _right_

And I wondered why I didn't love him. I was curious why, why on earth, this sweet boy who saved me again and again and told me he loved me, didn't get my heart.

Maybe I was tired of being the strong one. Maybe I was tired of fear and pain and unknowns. He took them all away, without ever asking for something in return

Maybe he didn't ask because he wanted my pain and fear and unknowns. He wanted the weak part of me.Is it possible he knew I didn't love him, and took away my weak side?

Now he's gone, and my strength is humming against my ears and I want so desperately to cry out, to need, to be weak. I know that I was his weakness, he couldn't think when I was around. But he was my streangth.

And that part of him still lives in me. I'm strong. I thought that was a gift, but I know better now; it was a curse. I refuse to break. He has my weakness.

There is a hole in me. And that's him. I miss him.

I hate myself for needing to be saved, now from myself. That was what got me in trouble.But last time it wasn't my fault. I could blame those bastards who got me in the mess, I could blame circumstances and fate. Now, there's no one to blame but myself.

And I wonder if he knew all along. I wonder if he understood that if he had such a big part of me, I had to be with him to be whole. Could he have predicted the future? Did he know me that well? Maybe. It wouldn't surprise me. He was always studying me, watching me, looking into my soul.

Part of me knows that it's better now, with him gone, with me moving on.It's good that everyday my heart doesn't ache as much. And it's good that I only dream about him sometimes. And maybe, a little bit at a time, I'm getting myself back. That's I'm forgetting to think of him. But I know he thinks of me always. I see him everywhere. At my house, at my work, wherever I go. He's there, looking at me with those big, haunted eyes. I thought they were sexy at first. I would kiss him with my eyes open, hoping to glance at those eyes. Now, the pain that shines through them; can anyone else see it? Or just me, because I know him- no, _knew_ him- so well? I hate those eyes now. I hate all of him for making me remember, for stealing me from myself. And for making me believe he was giving to me, when really he was just taking.

If it's good, why does it hurt? Why can't I revel in the pain? Why can't I be weak?

He didn't see that he took away my good qualities when he took away the bad. He didn't see I needed all my bad qualities to be who I once was, who he fell in love with.

So, I'm sitting outside looking up at the stars, writing in my journal, and I wonder if he's staring at me. I can feel his eyes on me always, it's not nice like it was many months ago, now it's pain. And I'm crying on the inside, I'm crying blood because tears refuse to fall. I hate it when that happens. My whole body becomes sore from holding back tears. 

I cry more than I used to. I cry when I'm not even sad, just to prove to myself that I can. And I wonder how I'm going to be me again, how I'm going to reclaim the things I never knew I had.

I wonder if he knew. 


	2. Bent (end)

BENT

BENT

_"If I fall a long way, would you pick me up and dust me off? . . .Shouldn't be so complicated, just hold me and then, just hold me again. Can you help me I'm bent. I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together. . .and this is how we will live, with you and me. . .I know you think I need a lot, can you help me, I'm bent."- _Matchbox 20

She looks thinner. And breakable. I wonder if it's from the weight she's lost, or because of her aura that radiates hurt.

I can't take the look in her eyes. She looks sad and angry and confused. Is it visable only to me because I knew her?

No, stop lying to yourself, Max. You never knew her.

She stares right through me with this puzzled look, as if she's looking for answers. She had beautiful eyes. It wasn't the color (deep brown) or even the shape (kind of like an almond, but a bit too small for her face) that I admired, it was the light that shone in them. She laughed at me when I said her eyes were hazel, once I even said blue. She knew I had every inch of her memorized.__

_"They're dark brown. Like yours. Why don't you know that?"_

_"Sorry."_

The sky shone through her eyes, so I thought they were blue. And they were so light from happiness, I thoughtthey were hazel. 

But now I know they're brown. You couldn't convince me of anything else. They are like mud; deep and pitch dark.

And I know that I changed them. 

I'm sorry for that.

I've been following her lately. I'm sorry for _that_, too

It killed me when she said the bad words.

"_I don't want to see you anymore." _

__It wasn't even the words, but the way she said it. Nonchalantly. The same way she would say 'I'm done with dinner, can I be excused?' 

And it hurt that I wasn't important enough for her to care. I sat still for a moment when she said it was over. I was wondering if it hurt her to say it.

After, I couldn't bear to face her.I ducked into the men's bathroom at school whenever she came my way at school, I ditched classes that I had with her. I didn't see her.

And I couldn't bear that. Even before. . .everything, I knew her. We were friends. I became dependant on things like seeing her, smelling her hair, hearing her laugh. I knew that it was weak of me to need her when she so obviously didn't need me. But with me it was like with any other addict, I thought I could quit at anytime.

"_Hello, my name is Max Evans and I'm addicted toLiz Parker"_

In the back of my mind I wondered if there was a support group for that sort of thing. Like, _Stalkers Anonymous._

She was my weakness. Stronger than anything, controling me. I was her streangth. But maybe not, if she could throw me away so easily. Anyway, I needed to see her, to watch her life if I couldn't be part of it. And I couldn't bear for her to look at me.

So, I've started following her. It was easy at first. When you know someone for 8 years you pick up on their habits. 

But as I got sucked into it, I realizied how much I didn't know. 

I didn't know that at night, when she's sure her parents have gone to bed she sits on top of her father's car and counts the stars. 

I didn't know that she curls up into a ball in the corner of her room to write in her diary.

I didn't know she talks in her sleep. 

I didn't know that she will try to catch lizards with some of the kids on her street when she doesn't think anyone is looking. 

I didn't know she sang along to Celine Dion when she went running before school.

I didn't know how much she cried.

It seems the more I learn about her, the more I lose touch with myself.

I hate who I've become. 

I know she knows I watch her. She seems to sense it. Her movements will be so airy and graceful. I might get to watch her for a few minutes like that. Then, she senses me, and tightens up. Careful, cautious of what's being seen. Every move will be calculated, and precise. Find the goal, prepare for the goal, reach the goal, done. I liked it when she would stand still and throw her head back, admiring everything around her.

But she doesn't do that anymore, she doesn't allow herself to be vulnerable.

I see that, and pain explodes in my heart. I don't want to do this to her. I want to stop. I will stop.

Only, I can't. 

When I realize this, I fall to my knees, ashamed. It's then I want to kill myself. I shouldn't live, only to torment the one I love.

I can't bear to kill myself. She gave me a tiny part of her. It lives in me. I couldn't hurt any part of her, no matter how small.

I wonder if she misses that part of herself.

I think she does.


End file.
